Free The She Wolf of France by Maurice Druon

above, he was aware of how exaggerated, forced and ostentatious this great lord's manner was. Monseigneur of Artois behaved like an ogre because nature had endowed him with exceptional physical proportions. In fact he was a cunning and crafty man. And Tolomei held Robert's accounts.
    The banker was more interested in the personage accompanying Artois. This was a lord dressed entirely in black; there was an air of assurance about him, though his manner seemed distant, reserved and somewhat haughty. At first sight Tolomei judged him to be a man of considerable force of character.
    The two visitors stopped at the counter displaying arms and harness. Monseigneur of Artois' huge red glove moved among the daggers, stilettos and the patterns of sword-hilts, turned over the saddle-cloths, the stirrups, the curved bits, the scalloped, pinked and embroidered reins. The shop - man would have a good hour's work to put his counter in order again. Robert selected a pair of Toledo spurs with long rowels; the shanks were high and curved outwards to protect the Achilles tendon when the foot exerted a violent pressure against the horse's flanks; a sound invention and certainly of great use in tournaments. The sidepieces were decorated with flowers and ribbons with the device `Conquer' graven in round letters in the gilded steel.
    `I make you a present of them, my lord,' said the giant to the gentleman in black. `The only thing that's missing is a lady to buckle them to

your feet. But she won't be missing for long; the ladies of France are soon aroused by people from abroad. You can get anything you want here,' he went on, with a wave at the shop. `My friend Tolomei, a master usurer and a fox in business, will supply you with everything you need. I've never yet known him fail to produce anything one asks of him. Do you want to present your chaplain with a chasuble? He has thirty to choose from. A ring for your mistress? He has chests full of stones. Scenting the girls before pleasuring them? He'll provide you with a musk straight from the markets of the Orient. Are you in search of a relic? He has three cupboards full. And what's more, he sells gold to buy it all. He has currency minted in every corner of Europe, and you can see the exchanges marked up on those slates there. He sells figures, that's what he really sells: farming profits, interest on loans, revenues from fiefs. There are clerks adding and checking behind all those little doors. What would we do without this man who grows rich on our inability, to count? Let's go up to his room.'
    The steps of the wooden corkscrew staircase were soon creaking under the weight of the Count of Artois. Messer Tolomei closed the spy-hole and let the arras fall back into place.
    The room the two lords entered was sombrely, heavily and sumptuously furnished; there were massive pieces of silver plate, while figured tapestries muffled every sound. It smelt of candles, incense, spices and medicinal herbs. All the scents of a lifetime seemed to have accumulated among the rich furnishings.
    The banker came forward. Robert of Artois, who had not seen him for many weeks - indeed, for almost three months during which he had had to accompany his cousin, the King of France, first into Normandy at the end of August, and then into Anjou for the whole autumn - thought the Sienese was looking older. His white hair was thinner and fell more sparsely over the collar of his robe; time had set its crow's-feet on his face and, indeed, his cheekbones looked as if they had been marked by a bird's feet; his jowls had fallen and swung beneath his chin; his chest seemed narrower and his stomach more protuberant; his nails, which were cut short, were splitting. Only his left eye, Messer Tolomei's famous left eye, which was always three-quarters shut, still lent his face an expression of cunning and vivacity. But the other eye, the open eye, seemed a little absent, a little weary and inattentive, as if he were worn out an d